


No One Tells Me What To Do

by Flannigan



Category: Hanna Is Not A Boy's Name
Genre: (this is not smut), M/M, Physical Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements, Unhealthy Relationships, Verbal Abuse, au where casimiro is almost the worst he can be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 17:45:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8023222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flannigan/pseuds/Flannigan
Summary: Casimiro's had enough.





	No One Tells Me What To Do

**Author's Note:**

> 1st draft from 2012, edited in 2016

“Stop it!” Finas cried aloud when Casimiro's fangs bit into his neck. A palm pressed over his mouth and fangs ground deeper into his flesh. His ferocity was like that which Finas had only felt once before in his existence, long ago when he still needed to breathe. His fingers latched onto the chain links of the handcuffs and he willed them to break, but they didn't, and he struggled to turn away from his sharp teeth.

“Enough...!” he tried to say, getting more light-headed by the second. The bruise on the side of his head hurt madly; the large, rent wound on his neck freely spilling over and staining their clothes and the bedsheets.

Casimiro growled into his ear after his muffled words. The fangs pulled out and Casimiro sat up with blood rolling down his chin and under the collar of his shirt.

“You're doing it again. Telling me what to do. Who exactly do you think you are?”

Finas looked up, trying to focus his vision. The room spun and his head fell forward, jaw hitting his chest. Wiry fingers grabbed a fistful of his hair and snapped up his head, sending it into the headboard. He groaned, feeling Casimiro's legs press into his sides.

“Who exactly do you think _I_ am?” he hissed, bending his back to glare Finas in the eye. “No one tells me what to do. Not my father, the holy men, my sire, not any one. Certainly not an arrogant, pathetic old man like you, _Finas_.” Casimiro spat out his name and slapped hard over his face with the hand that a moment before caressed his neck in a gentle way that Finas usually treasured.

His lower lip split open by a pretty bauble he wore on a finger. His blurry vision caught onto a short wooden stick on the bedside table, tapering off into a point. He froze, feeling his stomach drop, and he turned his gaze at his unexpected captor.

“You'd kill me?” he asked. Casimiro studied his face before he glanced at the stake.

"One day maybe." Casimiro put all his strength into holding him in place underneath him at his admission. But Finas had stopped fighting. What was the point? Casimiro raised his brows high.

“You surprise me, Finny. I never thought it would be this easy. Do you know how long I've tried to prepare for this?"

"I don't want to know," Finas said, words ignored.

"I thought you'd put up a fight. A small one, at least. Put those muscles to use, or are they just for show?” Casimiro poked him in the chest, squeezed his arm. He continued to speak sweetly, like to a clueless child. “Did I really make you drop your guard _that_ much?... Don't look away, keep your eyes open. Good, good, _bene._ ”

Finas slowly obeyed, seeing no other option. There was a tightness in his chest when he met his eye.

"Tell me this is a sick joke," he said. Whatever burning anger Casimiro's betrayal sparked in him, it was extinguished by the foolish hope he couldn't rid himself of, hope that things weren't as bad as they seemed. He clung to it, desperately, keeping him from kicking him off, breaking the restraints and giving him the beating he deserved. "Please, just stop already. It's not funny."

"The only joke here is you," Casimiro said, hips moving against him _just so_ as he shifted. Finas wasn't surprised, Casimiro derived pleasure in the most deprived ways.

“Will you tell me what to do again?” Casimiro asked lowly, nearly a moan.

"It's for your own bloody good! You're too reckless!" Finas shot off. A most displeased glare was cast at him and Finas feared he'd reach toward the bedside table, but Casimiro grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled back his arm, fist wearing the ring closed.

"I don't need you to look after me. Never needed anyone. I'm just some _thing_ to control, keep contained. You don't care about me, just want me to worship your every word."

"That's not tru-" Casimiro punched him in the face.

"Keep your lies, I won't believe them anymore."

Finas forced his eyes open and fixed on him. What had he done to make Casimiro turn on him? It was the last thing he wanted. All he knew anymore, all he was certain of was his desire and need to be by Casimiro's side. The prospect of being cast away made him reel. His chest tightened even more, growing up in his throat as a painful lump.

"I'm sorry."

The surprise was apparent in Casimiro's face. Finas said it again. The grin that infected Casimiro's face was terrible. But he would do anything, even this. Give Casimiro the whole hand, arm, all of him, when he'd offered a finger.

He promised he would never tell him what to do again.

"How will I know you won't leave or attack me when I turn my back?" Casimiro asked, fingers flowing down his torso, pressing over his ribs like piano keys. Finas squirmed at the touch, hearing him snicker at him. "Guess I'll just have to keep a watchful eye on you."

He swallowed, tongue too big for his mouth.

"I won't harm or leave you." Couldn't even if he wanted to. He had been drawn in too much, given too much of himself to Casimiro he didn't know who he was without him. He was no one.

"So you say, but it's not like I trust your words anymore." Casimiro smirked as if the hurt Finas couldn't hide delighted him. He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around him like an embrace, damp shirts sticking together.

"I know things might be a little awkward between us for a while," Casimiro whispered in that tone that he must know any other night would drive Finas crazy. Behind his back the tight handcuffs loosened, cold metal slipping off his wrists. "But it's still just me. Your best friend Cas. We can still enjoy each other, hm?"

He couldn't reply before there was a hand clutching at his hair again and he was forced face-down into the bed. A knee dug into his back, his arm pulled harshly behind him and all Finas could do was clutch the duvets with his free hand and keep down any kind of moan. It seemed important, for some reason.

“What do you say, Finas...?” he whispered sweetly, brushing away the hair from the upturned side of Finas' face. It felt affectionate and made his skin crawl. “You behave like a good little boy and stop telling me what to do, do as I want, and we'll get along all right."

He swallowed his pride along with his hope and he nodded. Said that yes, he would do what what he wanted. He said it because he loved him, for God's sake. He had thought Casimiro knew that. And maybe he did, but didn't care. 

“Very good...” Casimiro crooned, and bent down to close up the wounds on his neck. Finas moved away from his touch, but didn't get far. “Feed from something sweet next time, you taste like fucking tea and biscuits,” he muttered, and Finas didn't like the implication that this would be a regular occurence. He was afraid of what would happen next, aware of where his hands strayed on his body--not that he would deny him anything--but Casimiro climbed off of him, wiped around his mouth and walked out the room.

Finas only closed his eyes and tried to breathe, but gave up on that too.

**Author's Note:**

> www.it-s-blue-ink.tumblr.com


End file.
